


Let Me Carry You

by FictionPenned



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alex asked why we even have this lever, Angst, Carrying, Other, ThoscheiLockdown2020, ThoscheiTreatLockdown2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: Bright green eyes -- tired and shaded by love and loss and fear -- appeal to the sky above.There is no divine intervention, no sudden inspiration, no outside help. It is just the two of them. Alone, in pain, and irreparably broken.I’ll need you to help me.Response to the prompt "bridal carry" for Thoschei Lockdown Exchange 2020
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70
Collections: Thoschei Lockdown The First 2020





	Let Me Carry You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [V_fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_fics/gifts).



Even when the world has fallen down about their ears, their legs tremble with every step across the rocky ground, and tears shine on their cheeks, the Doctor wants to help the Master. Her name is a promise, a resolution to do no harm and to provide assistance to those who need it. When it was made, it was a promise that extended to all people, not just those who deserve it, and though she has a habit of forgetting those intentions in moments of stormy rage, they float back towards the front of her mind once the dust settles and the smoke clears.   
  
So she helps. As she must.   
  
For a while, the Master mostly manages to hold his own, supported only by his force of will and an arm slung across the Doctor’s shoulder for balance. She hurts with every step, pain whistling through gritted teeth in a quiet hiss, but she keeps walking and does not complain about the extra weight. The TARDIS is only a little less than a mile away. It is far, but not impossibly far. Even in her battered state and the added heaviness of an injured person, she can make it there.  
  
_They_ can make it there.   
  
Despite her determination, neither of them can spare the effort required to speak, so they open the floodgates to their minds, consciousnesses mixing and mingling until they feel more like a single being than a separate pair. Messages come in abstract flashes -- images, a jumble of words, an impression of emotions deeply felt and barely acknowledged -- but they can understand each other better than they can through speech. The Doctor feeds him her resolve, and in return, the Master supplies her with his rage. They strengthen each other in a feedback loop, emotions building until they seem almost unstoppable.   
  
However, the mind can only go so far. The body must also be capable of completing the tasks that have been set to it, and eventually, the Master’s legs give way beneath him. He stumbles and falls, collapsing into a heap on the dusty ground, body heaving with the effort of every exhausted breath.   
  
The Doctor crouches beside him, muscles shaking from both the effort and the pain that echoes through her veins.   
  
_Can you carry on?_   
  
A question spoken through memories. A thousand failed tasks at the Academy. Racing through red fields spread beneath an orange sky. Two doomed figures standing on the brink of the death of the universe with a gun between them. Eyes meeting in liminal space. A tense hand that cannot bear to press a button.   
  
He offers up a tiny shake of his head. Sweat and blood run together in rivulets that trace the angles of his face and drip from the tip of his nose to the parched ground below.   
  
_No_.   
  
Bright green eyes -- tired and shaded by love and loss and fear -- appeal to the sky above.   
  
There is no divine intervention, no sudden inspiration, no outside help. It is just the two of them. Alone, in pain, and irreparably broken.   
  
_I’ll need you to help me_.  
  
The Doctor is smaller than she once was, but she still possesses a Time Lord’s strength. There is a brief, unspoken negotiation as her arms slip beneath his back and his knees and his hands lock behind her neck, and eventually, she rises to her feet with screaming muscles and a whispered sigh of effort. If she could muster enough breath, she would have screamed. She can feel something in her back tear and give way, but she does not acknowledge it.   
  
She cannot let her pain have power over her, otherwise they will never make it out of here.   
  
They have to leave. They no longer belong on Gallifrey. This planet has already seen enough suffering and despair.  
  
Every step is its own battle -- as brutal and vicious as any that she has seen. Suddenly, she’s a soldier again, putting her safety on the line in the name of duty and responsibility. She had hated fighting as much as she currently hates this, but that very hate keeps her going. She wants this to be over. She wants to _win_.   
  
By the time they make it to the TARDIS, the suns have swapped places in the sky.   
  
The Doctor cannot spare a hand to find her key or snap her fingers, but she finds enough breath in her lungs to shakily implore, “ _Please_. I’m sorry.”  
  
Mercifully, the twin doors swing open.   
  
Two steps into the entryway, she collapses, sending the Master to the ground with her in a tangle of pained and exhausted limbs. Deep in her ears, she can hear both the beating of his hearts and her own, laboring under the rush of adrenaline. Her eyes ease closed, and a rush of memories meets her. Bubbling laughter. Shared antics. The press of a hand in hers. The fleeting happiness of youth before the agony of adulthood was allowed to set in.   
  
To anyone else, it would be a garbled mess, but she sees it for what it is: a thank you. 


End file.
